


Capp U!

by thecheekydragon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oh Canada, POV Derek, Prompt Fill, Tim Hortons, comment fest, drive thru, f-bombs galore, iced cappaccino
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecheekydragon/pseuds/thecheekydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Derek is a surly Tim Hortons drive thru worker and Stiles has an unhealthy addiction to Ice Caps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capp U!

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [Oh Canada Comment Fest](http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com/753686.html) hosted on LiveJournal by [marguerite_26](http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com)

Derek hated this fucking job. 

He hated the hours, most of his coworkers, some of the customers and the fucking uniform. The fucking poly-blend tan shirt and fucking polyester brown pants that were too fucking tight to actually fucking move. And the fucking visor. And the headset. He hated those too. The name tag he could almost live with but he wished to fucking God he could scratch in ‘Fuck Off!’ under the etched in ‘Derek’ on the plate just so he could point instead of having to grunt and roll his eyes at some of the fuckers that came through at two fucking am in the fucking morning ordering triple triples and way too many fucking boxes of timbits. 

Derek even hated the smell of coffee. Fuck.

And he hated the fucking kid in the fucking blue jeep. The one who came through the drive thru at least five fucking times during Derek’s shift, each time ordering a size fucking large iced cappuccino . Did the kid realize that was 470 calories and 20 grams of fat for a fucking 150 milligrams worth of caffeine slushie? Times fucking five?! A meth addict had to be less fucking wired than this kid.

Derek’s headset was triggered when the car approached the order box. “Welcome to Tim Hortons. Derek speaking. How may I help you?” he rattled off automatically with the bare minimum of enthusiasm while handing a large double double through the window. 

“Uh, large iced capp,” a by now too familiar voice said in his ear. 

It was ten-oh-fucking-five at night and the kid wanted a fucking caffeine-laced ice slush stimulant? “No,” said Derek.

“What?” the voice squawked back through the box. “What do you mean no? Is the machine broken?”

Derek heard quick, shallow intakes of breath. What the fuck? Was the kid fucking _hyperventilating_?

“Machine’s fine,” he said. “But this is your fifth order in like six hours so _No_. How about a small chai tea?” There was still caffeine in the suggested beverage but it was only 16 milligrams compared to another fucking 150 mg jolt.

There was a beat of silence. Then, “Are you kidding me? Chai tea? Listen, buddy, I want my iced capp. I’m gonna pull up to the window now and it better be there for me.”

There was a huff and then Derek’s headset indicated another car rolling up to the order box in the seemingly never-ending stream of night caffeine addicts. He rattled off his spiel, scooping up the small chai tea Erica had prepared and set on the counter, ready to hand it off to the driver of the jeep.

“That’s too large double doubles, a chocolate chip muffin and an old fashioned glazed?” he confirmed through the headset as the jeep rolled up to the window. Did people even realize they were better off with a fucking Boston cream than a muffin or a sugar on top of sugar donut? Especially at this time of night.

The kid goggled at Derek when he handed him the hot tea. “What the fuck, dude? I want my iced capp not a chai fucking tea.”

“Name’s Derek, not Dude,” Derek said, tapping his name badge. Again, it would be so much easier if he could just etch in ‘F U’ under his name. He’d ask Erica to do it with her fingernails at his next break. 

“Ok, _Derek_ ,” the kid said, setting the cup of tea back on the ledge of the drive thru window. “This isn’t my order. I ordered a large iced cappuccino. And I want it.”

“No.”

He thought the kid’s goggling was amusing before but now it was just fucking hilarious. Eyes comically wide, jaw practically dropped to the ground. Except that it was also kind of arousing, with those full lips and those bright honey brown eyes. And those damn intriguing moles dotting pale skin that made Derek think of chocolate chip muffins.

The car behind the jeep laid on the horn and Derek asked the next customer at the order box to “Please wait a moment.”

He handed the cup back to the kid and said, “Take the tea and _go_. You’re backing up my drive thru.”

The kid sputtered. “You—your—what--” But he closed his hand around the paper cup and urged the jeep forward.

Derek returned to the customer at the box and handed off the next order. He may have hated his fucking job but he was damn fucking good at it. 

He was another order in when he became aware of a commotion at the main counter. The jeep kid must have parked and was now at the counter, waving his arms, the cup of chai tea still in his hand. 

“Erica, tell this _douchebag_ to give me my iced capp,” the kid implored.

Derek looked down at his name tag. Yep. Still said ‘Derek’. Not Dude or Douchebag.

“Talk to her about it,” Erica replied, shrugging and pointing at Laura, Derek’s sister, who had come out from the back. “She’s the manager.”

“What’s going on?” Laura asked and Derek signalled to Boyd to take point on drive thru for a moment.

The kid flapped his arms around, the cup of chai tea clenched in one hand. “ _He_ ,” he gestured at Derek with the cup, “won’t fill my order.”

Laura raised an eyebrow at Derek.

“Look at him,” Derek said. “He’s already had four iced capps. He’s all...” Derek waved a hand at the kid, “...twitchy.”

Erica snorted. “Oh that’s not the iced capps,” she said. “That’s just Stiles.”

“What’s stiles?” Derek asked. Christ, was Erica telling him the kid had a fucking condition? Or, fuck, maybe ‘stiles’ was the new street name for meth. 

“Him, dumbass.” Erica pointed at the kid. And, really, what was with all the fucking D names that weren’t Derek? “He’s Stiles.”

Stiles gave him a two-finger wave and a half grin. Then seeming to need to do something with his hands, he pushed the tab back on the lid and brought the cup up to his mouth, taking a sip of the chai tea.

“Oh hey, this isn’t bad,” Stiles said appreciatively. He tipped the cup back and drained it, setting it down on the counter with a satisfied flourish. “Hit me up with another,” he said, winking – _actually fucking winking_ – at Derek.

“No,” Derek said firmly. “No more caffeine.” 

Stiles pouted. Erica giggled. Laura went back to her office in the back.

Derek handed Stiles a bottled apple juice and an oatmeal raisin cookie, switched his headset back on, and returned to drive thru duty.

He pretended not to notice Stiles checking out the way his tight polyester brown pants fucking hugged his ass. 

**

Okay, so Derek’s job still fucking sucked. But he didn’t _really_ hate his coworkers. And most of the customers were okay most of the time. And maybe the uniform wasn’t so bad. The shirt was comfortable enough and the pants made his ass look good. And the visor...no, he still hated the fucking visor. It messed with his hair.

And maybe the kid in the jeep wasn’t so bad either. He was actually kind of cute when he wasn’t yelling at Derek and demanding another 470 calorie-20 grams of fat-caffeinated creamshake. 

And, really, Derek could even live with being blamed for the withdrawal symptoms that went with cutting off the iced cappuccino supply if it meant Stiles dealt with it by latching his mouth onto Derek’s to keep himself occupied and the symptoms at bay.

Because making out with Stiles in his jeep in the lot behind the Timmies after his shifts?

Yeah. Derek really liked that.


End file.
